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 Brief prose and poetry lacking other categories... |
| Kiya's Wonderland Prompt: Imagine a world where there are 25 hours in a day or 25 months in a year! • Write a short story (no more than 500 words) or a poem (no more than 40 lines) of such an event occurring. • Let the personification of Time be a part of your entry. • Your item should not exceed the 18+ rating. • Post link to your story or poem in the forum. Myra stared at the elegant piece of parchment in her hands. “Twenty-five months in a year,” she scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It's an experiment the government is running,” her brother Sam said, adjusting his lab coat. “We want to see how much more a person can get done if a year is doubled over.” “And whose great idea was this? I suppose it's being funded by taxpayers?” “Naturally,” he replied. “Actually, it was Father Time's idea. He's been hired as head of the National Institute of Chronological Efficiency, or NICE.” “Oh, indeed? I'll let him know what's nice. What could possibly be efficient about two cycles of seasons in one year? What happens to the holidays?” She gasped. “Sam! What about birthdays?” “Relax, Myra, it's just an experiment. If this one doesn't work out, the rest will be normal years.” “I guess I can't argue with skipping a year's birthday, if that's how it's going to work,” she said wryly. *** And so the days passed. At first there was a major upheaval as computer systems, banks and other things dependent on dating adjusted to the upcoming longer year. Then, after a few months, everything settled down and seemed almost normal. January 1st was no longer New Year's Day, but instead they celebrated “Halfway Through day,” much to Myra's amusement. Her first birthday was marked with the usual fanfare, but as her second one drew closer, she began to be concerned. What if something went wrong? What if there was a massive glitch in the system? What if she ended up being two years older – or worse? “Just treat it as you would any other day,” Sam assured her. “There's no need to celebrate if the year isn't over yet – you already had your birthday!” Myra tried to convince herself that the ways they measured time didn't mean anything – a day was a day, and a month was a month, and years were somewhat subjective, right? The night before, she sat up, waiting for midnight. When the clock chimed twelve, a knock sounded at her door. Myra looked out her upstairs window at the front porch. A guy wearing a long beard, a watch on a chain and a wizardly robe stood there, holding a book. “Seriously? Are you Father Time?” She opened the door. He smiled and handed her the book. “This is for you on your unofficial birthday,” he said with a wink. “Your brother Sam wanted me to give it to you personally. From all of us at NICE.” With that, he disappeared. Myra sat down and browsed through the pages, which held photos of her and Sam from childhood to the current time, along with handwritten notes and memories from family members. “Well, this is nice, isn't it?” Myra chuckled. “I'll have to thank Sam. This twenty-five month year isn't so bad.” Words: 480. |
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